


Hotel California

by romanreigning



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Confusion, Gen, I'm sorry sami, Supernatural Elements, and then a lot of panic, deanee but it isn't the focus, everything's kinda just implied, hotel california au, i guess, there's some small amounts of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-09-27 06:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9979538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanreigning/pseuds/romanreigning
Summary: On a dark desert highway, the trio of Roman, Dean and Renee stop for the night at a place called Hotel California.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I did it!!!! It's not really what I had thought it was gonna be but it's not _too_ bad? (I hope) 
> 
> I hope you like it! =)

"Dean, for the last time get your foot off the fucking-"

"Yeah yeah I know," he cuts Roman off, sighing with annoyance as he removes his foot from resting on the dashboard.

"Then why do you keep doing it?" Roman snaps, just as annoyed.

"It's comfy!"

"Boys! Boys!" a voice from the backseat interjects. "Calm down. Keep the peace for like ten more minutes and then you don't have to talk to each other at all until tomorrow afternoon," Renee says. Both Dean and Roman grumble a little but there's no further arguments.

The three are halfway through a two-week long road trip, an idea proposed by Renee because they 'needed to live a little bit'. Not that Dean minds, it's been pretty fun roadtripping with his girlfriend and his best mate, but as they now know too much time together leads to arguments over stupid things.

Dean sighs, feeling a head ache on it's way and dozens of another strange pains throughout his body. Keeping still is hard, especially when Roman keeps calling him out on all the leg bouncing and finger tapping.

The road is dead apart from their car, copy and pasted desert rolling by outside the windows in the dark. Up ahead Dean can see the town that they're stopping in for the night, but they're not there yet and he's so damn tired he nearly falls asleep every time he blinks.

"What's the name of the place again?" Roman asks, startling Dean.

"Uhhh," Renee says, followed by rustling sounds as she sifts through her stuff in the back, the low light making it hard. "Hotel California," she answers. Roman just nods, continuing to look ahead.

Time stretches on and Dean nearly loses the battle to stay awake about a dozen times, but he persists, and eventually they're driving past the 'Welcome' sign that he doesn't care enough to read. He hears the scribble of a pen, which must be Renee writing in her travel diary.

"Is this it?" Roman asks tiredly a few minutes later, squinting at the near blinding light emanating from the sign to their left.

Dean lets out a yawn before saying, "Well, considering the sign is right there and it is indeed the name of our hotel, I'd say so." Roman punches his arm, albeit weakly. Renee's too done to scold either of them.

They find a park easily, stepping outside of the car and stretching out their sore limbs. Dean's the first to get around to the boot and pull out his suitcase, stepping aside to let the others get theirs.

"Why is this sign so fucking bright," Dean mumbles, face bathed in the bright blue neon light of the sign as he squints up at it. The other two make no comment, too busy pulling their luggage out of the car. Once all three have everything they set off, eager to get into a nice comfy bed after a long day of driving.

It's not the fanciest hotel, but it's the fanciest place that Renee booked for them to stay in.

They enter the lobby, but Dean doesn't take in the details. It's small, a seating area around a fireplace off to the side and a reception desk to the other. They beeline right for there, finding a single woman sitting behind it. She looks up from inspecting her nails as they approach, hair pulled back in a tight bun.

"Oh, hello," she says, voice thick with an accent Dean doesn't recognise.

"Hey, uh," Renee starts, fumbling around as she looks for something. "We booked some rooms for the night-"

"Yes yes," the woman - Dean squints at her nametag - Lana, says, cutting Renee off. "Room 125 and Room 165, a singe room and a double room. Prepaid. Here are your keycards." She seems to provide the keycards out of thin air, not in her hand one moment and then in them the next. Renee looks confused as she takes them, but thanks Lana regardless.

"That was . . ." Renee says as they cram themselves into the elevator. She presses the button for their floor and hands Roman the keycard to his room.

"Whatever, we're here. Let's just go to sleep," Dean says, feeling his eyes burn with the need to be closed. It's been a long day. Roman mumbles something like an agreement and when they reach their floor they practically don't even say a good bye, constantly stifling yawns instead.

Renee opens their room for her and Dean and they haul their luggage in, dumping it at the foot of the bed, both with a loud sigh. The room is decent, a smallish kitchen, a bathroom, a couch with a TV and a double bed. The view isn't anything special but that's not what they booked the room for. Dean closes the curtains while Renee reads an information booklet left on their bed.

"Dinner is served at six thirty pm every night," she reads out loud. "Breakfast is at eight am."

"Don't remember that being a thing," Dean says, coming up behind Renee and wrapping his arms around her waist, slumping down a little to rest his head on her shoulder.

"Well, the website didn't have much information anyway. It's affordable, that's all that matters."

"I guess."

"Right," Renee sighs, patting his arm. "Bedtime. The more sleep you get the less you and Roman will be at each other's throats when we start moving again."

"Well maybe he should stop getting mad at me putting my foot on the dashboard," Dean defends as Renee slips out of his arms. "It's _comfy,_ babe. His 'what if we crash?' argument is so stupid. I'd get injured if my foot was there or not. And he's like, the safest driver I've ever met. My grandma drives more recklessly than him."

"I'm not going to go on about this," Renee gives him a tired look, getting dressed into her night gown. "You've been bickering about this since the day we left. I swear you just like pissing him off."

"That's part of it, yeah," Dean admits with a chuckle.

"Stop being an ass to him, he's your friend."

"Well then I'd have to be an ass to you," Dean smirks.

"And then you'll regret it," Renee warns, sending the smirk right back. Dean laughs and finally relents, stripping down to his boxers and slipping under the covers beside Renee. She reaches to turn off the light before settling into the familiar position at Dean's side, listening to his heartbeat as she rests her head on his chest.

* * *

 The only thing that gets Roman out of the bed the following morning is the threat of missing breakfast. If there's one thing he loves more than sleep, it's food.

He pulls back the curtains to a decently sunny day, not really looking outside as he throws on some proper clothes and wrangles his hair into a bun. That shit can wait for him to get some food into his system. 

He slips on some sandles, the sandles that he knows Dean - but mostly Renee - hates because they look so cringey ( _"Worse than crocs, Roman. Crocs!"_ ), before he exits his room and starts off in the direction of the stairs. If he has to spend half of the day in a car then he may as well move as much as he can now.

Up ahead he sees a large man in a red checkered shirt walking towards him, slight limp in his step, reading stuff off of an old looking clipboard. 

"Ah, Roman!" the man greets cheerily, looking up. _How does he know my name?_

"Hi," Roman replies lowly, a little confused. The two stop walking when they reach each other.

Up close, he can see that the man is much older than him, unruly brown hair surrounding his face and soft, kinda dog-like brown eyes peering out at him through it. 

"Those shoes are nice," he says, smiling as he looks down at Roman's feet. Roman returns it, though the awkwardness isn't eased. "Oh! I'm Mick. I'm the hotel manager, person," Mick stutters. "I know everyone here."

"This place must be pretty old, then? No offence," Roman adds quickly. Mick just laughs.

"Uh, you could, you could say that," his smile fades a little. "You headed to breakfast?"

"Yeah, we're leaving like, after lunch sometime."

"Right," Mick says. Roman notices that he's not meeting his eyes anymore, only looking off to the side. "Well uh, I'd best be going. Don't want to keep you. The breakfast is great, trust me." 

Mick walks off before Roman can even say anything, his limp limiting his pace. Roman stares after him for a few more seconds, but the growling of his stomach brings him back to the moment and he sighs, shaking his head. They'll be out of here soon. 

On the way down the stairs he pulls out his phone to see if there are any messages. It doesn't turn on. Roman's brows furrow. He'd just taken it off charge.

He turns the corner into what he believes to be the dining room, still trying to get his phone to work when he realises that the conversation has come to an abrupt stop. 

Looking up, he sees a few dozen men and women paused in their seats, many more than he'd anticipated, looking up at him. Some glance up for a second and then just look away, while others are looking at him with . . . sorrow?

He stares a few of them in the eyes, before diverting his gaze away to where the food is. _Man, this fucking place is weird . . ._

* * *

 "Hey."

A quiet voice startles Roman out of his thoughts on the way back to his room. He turns his head to see an area with a few chairs and couches and a table in the middle of all of it. One man is sitting alone, crossed legged and slouched.

"Hey," Roman says back, confused. "I don't remember this being on my floor."

"Because this isn't your floor."

"What?"

"The elevator. It does that sometimes. The stairs, too. Everything looks the same here." The man's talking almost to himself, tone quiet and a little dazed. 

Roman stays silent, processing the information. "Have you uh, have you been here long?" he asks. The man gives him a small smile, before he pats the cushion beside him. Roman hesitates for a second but complies, taking a seat beside the ginger man.

"You must be new here. I'm Sami."

"What do you mean by new?"

"Did you come here with the other man and the woman?" Sami ignores his question. 

"I did."

"That's nice. It's always good to have friends."

 _Is he . . . okay?_ Roman bites his lip as he stares at the ginger, his confusion ever growing. 

"I bet you're probably wondering what's going on," Sami says, like he's reading Roman's thoughts.

"I am, yeah."

Sami opens his mouth to speak then, but closes it, cringing. Silence stretches on between them. Roman sees Sami open his mouth to speak numerous times, but also close it just as many. 

"I uh, I have to go," Roman says, standing up from his seat. It isn't a lie, he does need to shower and get all his stuff ready for . . . something. They're going somewhere. He doesn't remember, but he knows Renee will. She planned the whole trip, anyway. 

"See ya, Roman," Sami says, giving him a wave and a warm smile. It doesn't reach his eyes. 

 _Okay, now I_ want _to leave._

He continues in the direction he had been going, thinking about Sami's words. The elevators just . . . did that? And the stairs? How could either take him to the wrong floor? They just don't . . . work like that.

Sami was right about one thing though, every did look awfully similar. After a while of walking down the hallway, he slowed his pace. He should've come to a turn or something, by now. Yet the hallway looks like it goes on for ages. Reluctantly, he presses on, concern mounting when after another minute everything is still the same, and there's no door to the stairs or elevator in sight.

"What the fuck," he mutters, picking up the pace. This isn't right, it couldn't be. 

He's in a full-on sprint before he even realises it. 

* * *

_Stage one_

"Where are we going next babe?" Dean asks from the bathroom, voice muffled from the toothbrush in his mouth.

"We're going-" Renee begins, but trails off. Silence fills the air in the room. Dean pauses when he realises, brows creasing. 

"Renee?" he backs up, turning to see her sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the ground wide-eyed. "Do you remember where we're going?"

Her response is so quiet he barely even catches it, but the second she whispers "I don't remember" he stops his brushing, spitting out the foam in his mouth and dropping the toothbrush in the sink. 

Renee's still staring at nothing when he comes back out, and he goes to her side, sitting down beside her and wrapping his arm around her waist.

"Hey, baby, it's okay, you're probably just tired. We can-"

"I don't remember anything, Dean."

"What?"

"I don't remember why we came here. I don't remember how we got here," she whispers, barely audible.

"Baby, we came here because-"

Because . . . _they came here because ._ . .

Nothing. His brain is empty. It shows on his face to Renee, whose eyes widen even more as her hand fumbles to find Dean's, squeezing it shakily. 

"W-why can't we remember?" she asks, voice almost as shaky as her hands.

Dean doesn't know what to say. 

"Wait, your diary," he mutters a few moments later, a faint memory coming back to him. Her head lifts up from his shoulder, and she must remember it too, by the look on her face. She gets up immediately, running over to her bag and unzipping it with shaky hands. Once it's open she digs her hands in and rummages around until her hand draws back, holding the plain looking notebook.

Dean rushes over as she opens it and practically tears through the pages, trying to find where she last left off. But as Dean watches her, his heart sinks. He closes his eyes, and grabs her wrist, stopping her.

"It's empty, babe."

"But-" Renee looks back down at it, only to see that Dean isn't lying. There's absolutely nothing written in it. "But - there has to be!" Ripping her arm out of her boyfriend's grip she continues to flicks through the pages, muttering frantically under her breath.

"Renee, c'mon, there's no-"

Her hand stops dead as she reaches a certain page. Dean's whole body stills as he sees it too. 

_'I can't breathe'._

Barely decipherable. Like it was written in a rush, or from an odd angle. Blood smears shaped like finger prints littering the page. The book drops to the ground, Renee's trembling hands slowly rising to cover her mouth, muffling the sob that escapes her throat. 

" _Where are we? What's happening to us?"_

* * *

  _This can't be real. This can't be real._

But every time he pinches his own arm he feels the pain, every time he closes his eyes as hard as he can everything still looks exactly the same when he opens them. It's real. It's happening. It's endless. 

Roman runs out of breath, his legs and lungs burning despite the fact that he basically exercises for a living. He must've been running for ages. He can't tell if it's night or day, there's no windows. Logically he knows it's still daytime, it has to be. But he just doesn't _know_ anymore.

"Fuck," he breathes out, leaning against the wall. "What the hell is _going on_? This  _has_ to be a dream," he mumbles to himself, feeling the oncoming of tears beginning to well up behind his eyes. He closes them to try and contain it.

"Stage one."

Roman nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears a familiar voice ring out beside him. He turns his head to see Sami sitting on the floor not too far from, back to the wall with a tight grip around his knees. 

"What the fuck is going on?" Roman says. Sami wasn't there a second ago. Neither was the painting on the opposite wall. He doesn't know how he got here. He's almost too tired to even question it. 

"Stage two is 'how the hell do I get out of here?'" Sami continues, ignoring Roman's question. 

"What the fuck is going on?" Roman nearly yells. Sami cringes a second, before letting out the most tired sigh Roman's ever heard.

"You're in Hotel California now," he says, quiet voice deadpan. He's still not even looking at Roman, his gaze almost fixed permanently on the ground. Roman swears he sees him hug his knees even tighter.

"What does that mean?" he asks, voice soft.

"It means nothing. You're here. That's it."

"But-" Roman begins. Sami looks like he's in another world, perfectly still save for the slow rise and fall of his back and chest. He lets out a sigh of his own, before slowly sitting down beside him, trying to calm himself.

"Sami, I need you to tell me what's going on. I'm freaking out over here okay," he tries again. 

Sami stays still for a few more seconds, before he turns to look at Roman, revealing fresh tear streaks down his face.

"Okay. I'll . . . I'll tell you. Everything."

* * *

_Stage two_

"We have to get out of here!"

She was completely unreachable, pacing the room frantically, muttering under her breath even more so. 

"Listen, listen," Dean pleads, holding her wrists as gently as possible as she struggles to pull away. "It's fine. We're okay." He doesn't believe a word of what he's saying, but he's going to make sure that she does. "We're fine. Maybe it's a dream."

"It's not a fucking dream Dean! I don't know what's going on, but we have to leave."

"Renee listen . . . let's go talk to Roman. He probably remembers." At this point he's just trying to convince himself. Reluctantly, she nods, and Dean gives her forehead a comforting kiss before beginning to guide her out of the room, taking the keycard from the bed.

He's the first out of the door, meaning that when he suddenly comes to a stop Renee accidentally walks into him, making a comical 'oof' sound.

"Roman?"

Their friend is just sitting on the floor a little ways down the hall, staring ahead at the ground. At the sound of Dean's voice he looks up, confusion on his face.

"What? I'm on your floor-" he looks around, brows drawn tight. He looks so tired.

"What do you mean? What are you doing here?" Renee asks as they approach him. He stays seated.

"I got lost."

"What?"

"I got lost. Elevator took me to the wrong floor and then the hallway never ended and so I stopped. This place is fucked."

"What the fuck," Dean uses both hands to push back the hair from his eyes and forehead. "What are you talking about?"

Roman's silence is worrying, more so than the cringe that makes the smile lines near his eyes crinkle. 

Renee kneels down in front of him.  "Roman, you need to tell me why we came here," Renee pleads, not waiting for him to answer Dean's question. "'Cause I don't remember and neither does Dean and-"

"I don't either," he cuts off Renee's rambling, voice deadpan. Silence.

"W-what do you mean? Why can't we remember?" her voice rises in pitch, panic setting in again. Dean steps forward and pulls her up, enveloping her in a hug that she hardly reacts to.

"No one remembers. We're all stuck here."

The couple snap their heads to look down at Roman again, Renee's face one of pure fear and Dean's one of pure confusion. 

"What the fuck are you saying?" Dean asks. Roman finally looks up them, his face still relatively emotionless. 

"We can't leave."

"But what-" Renee says, unable to grasp the simple statement. 

"Don't fuckin' joke with us Roman."

"I'm not joking. We can't leave. This place was weird the second we got here. People don't just randomly forget everything. Something's going on here, and we're caught up in it. Everyone-"

"Like fuck we're stuck here."

Dean's moving before he even registers that he is. There's no way. Roman's just being a dick. _But why can't you remember anything?_ He pushes those thoughts of the way, also ignoring Renee calling out after him. The elevator is only a few dozen steps away.

He enters it, smashing the button for ground floor and waiting for the doors to close, the soft elevator comically unfitting for the situation. It's not long before they open again, sliding back to reveal the rustic lobby. A few people are sitting around by the fireplace, quietly chatting.

Dean ignores them. He heads straight for the doors, watching himself approach in the mirror glass, stopping him from seeing outside. 

"Woah! Hey, hey!" someone yells behind him. Dean reaches the door, completely ignoring them. It doesn't open when he pushes. He tries pulling. That doesn't work either. The doors don't even budge, like they're just . . .  a wall. 

"No," he says in disbelief, shaking the 'doors' harder. Hands grab at his arms a few seconds later, and he's pulled back. 

"Let me go!" Dean barks at them, frustration peaking. 

"They don't work!" one of them replies, as if that's any help. 

Dean jerkily twists his arms out of their grip and refuses to meet their eyes, but his anger is melting back into the pure fear and panic it had come from. It isn't a dream. And everyone's so convinced that there's so no way out . . .

No. It's not true.

He's moving again, this time back to the elevator, smashing a random button and trying to keep it together.

"It's just a dream, it's just a dream," he repeats to himself, tapping his foot frantically. 

The elevator seems to take forever before it comes to a stop and slides open it's doors. Dean walks out, finding himself in a dimly lit hallway that looks practically abandoned. He immediately takes to pacing, trying to get himself in order.

Too preoccupied with his own thoughts, he misses the sound of the elevator reaching his floor again, and the doors clicking open once more.

It's someone saying "Dean, Dean," that gets his attention, and he turns around to see an old man walking towards him, limp in his step. 

"How do you know my name?"

"I know everyone's name. I'm Mick, I take care of everyone here. I uh, I take it you found out?" he asks slowly, as if reluctant.

"You need to tell me what the hell is really going on, okay," Dean says, ignoring Mick's question. "Because I'm not buying this shit. There _has_ to be a way out. Shit like this doesn't just . . . happen."

"But it does. It has," Mick says. Dean turns away from him, taking a breath and resuming his pacing to try and get rid of the unwanted emotions.

"I don't believe you."

"Dean, listen to me," Mick pleads, catching up to the younger man and grabbing a hold of his arm. "You. Can't. Leave." He sounds like he's on the verge of tears. "God, I'm so sorry. I've been here since I was twenty. I don't know why I came here. All I remember is seeing the big blue sign and going in. I've been trying to find a way out ever since. Dean, you can't leave here. It's impossible. I've _tried_ for so long."

"Stop saying that!" Dean tears his arm out of Mick's grip, backing away as he feels his eyes watering. "Mick . . . there _has_ to be a way out. Please. I think I'm going insane."

Mick's tears have more free reign than Dean's, falling freely down his face. His just shakes his head, hanging it in shame. "Everyone loses their mind here. No one knows what this place is. No one. Not even me."

"Are we . . . are we even real? I don't even-" Dean can't finish that sentence, his emotions betraying him as a sob escapes his throat. He flinches away from Mick's attempt to comfort and instead slides down the wall, hugging his knees tight as he stares ahead, eyes throbbing as tears leak unchallenged down his cheeks.

"No Dean, c'mon, you've gotta stay strong," Mick says. "Renee needs you. You need to keep her sane. You need to keep yourself sane. It's so hard, I know that. But you just have to."

Mick's words sink in. Dean sniffles, feeling so weak for crying. But what else can he even do? He's trapped in a hotel full of strangers, with no memories, no contact to the outside world . . . if there even is one, and there's nothing he can do about it?

"I don't want to be here," he admits quietly, voice weak. "I want to wake up."

Mick doesn't say anything, but Dean knows that he heard him. After a minute, Mick walks off, leaving Dean curled up and alone in the dark hallway. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you couldn't tell I didn't really finish this chapter because I lost motivation for the story. but. yknow. here's some more.

_Stage three_

For a few hours, the repetitive, mindless sound of a clock ticking away above Dean’s head is the only thing filling the room.

None of them have said a word since he got back, finding the other two just as tired and empty looking as he felt. Renee briefly looked up from where she was on the couch, curled up around her knees with her nose and eyes rimmed red. He went to her, and she curled up around him instead as he gave her forehead a kiss, but that was it. Roman didn’t even look up at all, laid out on the bed with an arm over his eyes.

It’s been absolute silence since then. There’s nothing they can say. There’s nothing they can do. Dean’s still trying to grasp the situation, running his fingers mindlessly through Renee’s hair and staring at the bland blue carpet.

The hotel doesn’t seem so warm anymore. Dean feels a thickness in the air that he hadn’t noticed before, not suffocating, but almost tangible. The thickness kind of feels like a heartbeat, pulsing and thumping in the air around him. It feels like the air could reach out and touch him, but it’s not a comforting thought. For all he knows the air could slowly choke him and he wouldn’t be able to do a thing because, it’s _air_. You can’t fight air.

He tilts his head back, eyes trailing to the clock. It’s not even dinner time yet. It’s like time doesn’t even exist anymore, and if it does, it’s slower than watching paint dry.

_I don’t even real anymore._

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of rustling, and both he and Renee turn their heads at the sudden noise to see Roman sitting up off the bed, face blank and eyes subtly ringed with red too.

“Going back to my room,” is all he says, before disappearing out the door. After a few more seconds of silence, Renee lets out a huge sigh and gets up too, slipping out of Dean’s arms and taking her warmth with her.

She doesn’t say a word, instead just slipping into the covers, clothes still on and all, where Roman just was, probably trying to take advantage of the leftover warmth. Dean follows her a few minutes later, turning off of the lights and curling tight up to her side.

* * *

 

Renee couldn’t sleep at all, too cold and too restless to even want to close her eyes. Every time she finally managed to doze off she woke up gasping and terrified, though she never remembered what she was dreaming about, only the ghost feeling of some kind of impact, and random pains throughout her body.

When the sun started rise, she gave up. There’s still a while till breakfast, but she doesn’t have the heart to wake Dean only for him to suffer with their new reality longer. So she doesn’t, instead giving his cheek a quick peck before leaving the room, door closing softly behind her as she enters the unnerving hallway.

It’s probably the most creepy part about this place. If what Roman said is true, they can just never end, change at will, mess with people’s heads. It sounds impossible, because hallways shouldn’t _do that,_ but when she stares down it to her left she shivers. It feels like the last place she wants to be. It just doesn’t feel right to be here, the dim, sickly orange lights reflecting off the peeling wallpaper.

Wait, peeling wallpaper?

She stops walking, eyebrows creased tight as she stares at it. The wallpaper when they had arrived looked fresh and a little generic, but now the wallpaper looks aged and some parts mouldy, peeling off in little bits on others. Renee reaches a hand up, brushing her fingers across a patch of peeling only for it to fall away, brittle. The light beside her flickers.

She steps away, and gets to the elevator as fast as she can.

* * *

 

Dean jolts awake, heart racing and sick adrenaline coursing through his veins as he almost gasps in shock of … something. For a second he doesn’t recognise where he is, the walls around him unfamiliar, almost wrong looking, like this isn’t where he should be, he should be _somewhere else_. But memories flood his mind not even a few seconds later, filling in all the panic hazed gaps. He takes a deep breath, feeling the panic subside, only to be replaced with a feeling of near resentment. He’s still here.

The bed is empty beside him. Renee must’ve gone to breakfast.

He sighs, kicking the thin covers off him and feeling his stiff body protest as he plants his feet on the ground and stands to stretch. He’s absolutely fucking freezing, his feet barely responding when he tries to move them.

A few moments after that, he’s just sitting there, staring at nothing. He doesn’t want to leave the room but he doesn’t want to be alone either.

He bites his lip, feeling the restlessness grow and grow under his skin. He just doesn’t know what to do anymore. He’s here. He can’t leave. What now? What is he supposed to do here?

Feeling frustration boil, he goes to open the window, wanting some fresh air, but when he pulls upwards, nothing happens.

Oh. Right.

The window stays tight, just like the doors, not even giving an inch or a smidge of hope that all is not futile. He can still see outside, even though it’s just a view of an endless desert bathed in the early morning sun. There’s a road, too, but it’s old and faded and he almost doesn’t even see it. No cars are running along it. There’s literally nothing else anywhere on the horizon. The sense of isolation increases sharply in that moment, and he turns away from the window, hands clasping at the hair of his fringe and pulling harshly to the point it brings reflexive tears to his eyes.

The dull throbbing is almost a welcome sensation.

The restlessness and frustration fuse together in that moment. Without thinking he picks up a phone off of the nightstand beside him, approaching the window one more time and swinging, hard.

The phone shatters in his hand, the sharp shards digging into the flesh of his palm and fingers as he just stands there, indifferent. There isn’t even a scratch on the window. It’s just a see-through barrier, a cage. Slowly, he releases the phone, all the shards go tumbling to the carpet, along with a few drips of blood.

With nothing to do until Renee gets back, he sighs and sits down on the edge of the hotel bed again - his bed - and just sits there, staring at the ground.

* * *

 

“Stage three, isolation.”

The voice causes Roman to look up, not surprised this time to hear it. Sami’s approaching him, holding his own plate of breakfast food.

“What are you, an expert or something?” he forces out humourlessly.

“I mean, I guess,” Sami shrugs, and Roman feels bad for saying it.  But Sami doesn’t seem put off by it, and just stays seated beside him, quietly eating away at his plate of food.

“How … how long have you been here?” Roman asks lowly, staring down at his untouched plate.

“Three years, give or take. I’ve kinda lost track.” He says it like its funny, with a sheepish smile and a slight flush on his face. It dies off rather abruptly when he realises Roman isn’t amused.

Three _years_. Roman’s already losing his mind from one _day_.

“What’s stage four?” he asks after a few minutes of silence, trying to stop himself thinking about it.

“Acceptance. Depression. Death, occasionally.”

“Is there a stage five?” Roman continues, after a pause filled with the quiet chatter of other people around them.

“Some people just, disappear.”

“Disappear?” Roman echoes.

“Yeah. Sometimes, people just stop coming down for breakfast. And when we check their room, they’re not there. Gone. And we never see them again.”

Roman swears his heart has never beaten faster than it is right now. People just _disappear_? Like into thin fucking air? _What_ is _this place? Why aren’t people freaking out?_

“See that pasty white guy over there?” Sami starts out of nowhere, startling roman out of his thoughts. “He came in with like, this massive group of guys. Those were a rough few days afterwards when they figured out what was going on. I haven’t seen some of them as much since they all started fighting. Fear does that to people.”

Roman’s still not entirely used to the way that Sami speaks, a mix of almost to quiet to hear and unnervingly calm in a situation that isn’t really calm at all.

A situation like this calls for panic, yet everyone’s so, so okay with it and it’s the most unsettling thing Roman’s ever experienced. Hell, he feels like he could panic enough for all of them. Someone has to do it. There’s no way people can be so damn calm about all of this.

“Oh and that blonde woman over there?” Sami continues, even after there’s no response from Roman. “She came in with three other chicks. They all pretty much hate each other now. I dunno what it is about this place but it just, sets people off.”

“What about those two?” Roman asks, looking in the direction of a man and a woman sitting together.

“Michael and Maryse. They met here. They’re both very egotistical and just, mean, so I guess it works out somehow,” Sami says. “They even had a mock wedding, a couple of months ago. Everyone doesn’t like them but it’s still one of the most exciting things that’s happened here.”

Roman’s head spins with all the names and information he has to learn. He looks around at everyone, catching some of them looking at him too. Their faces are curious, and they whip their heads back and pretend they weren’t just staring at him as soon as he looks in their direction. He can’t say the same about himself. His face feels like stone. He doesn’t think he’s ever gone this long without smiling.

_Every single person here used to be someone_. Now …

Well, now it doesn’t matter.

* * *

 

“Dean, you okay?” When Renee enters the room a while later with a plate of food, she finds her boyfriend hunched over, back to her on the bed. When he doesn’t respond, she walks over her him, about to say something else when she spots dried blood coating his palm and fingers.

“Dean, what happened?” she kneels down in front of him, grabbing his wrist gently to inspect it.

“Window,” is all Dean mutters after a pause. Renee turns too look at it. It looks completely fine, but then she sees all the broken pieces of a phone laying on the ground below it, and sighs. Dean really isn’t coping with all of this.

There are a few pieces still stuck in his hand. Renee pulls those out as carefully as she can, and he never makes a sound, but the pain on his face is enough on its own.

Dean’s eyes are tired. His face is blank but his eyes are _tired_ and Renee has to look away because it breaks her heart.

“Let’s-let’s get this patched up, alright?” she says softly. Still no response. Surely they have first aid kits somewhere.

She prays that luck is on her side when she presses the ground floor button, knowing full well they could end up on the top floor or anywhere in-between. But when they slide open after the brief and silent descent to reveal her desired destination, she lets out a sigh of relief.

She exits and walks up to the reception desk, a little surprised to find a man there instead of the woman from when they first arrived. He’s wearing excessively furry clothing, feet propped up on the table as he fiddles with a pen, looking up as she approaches.

“You’re new,” he says, almost curiously.

“I am,” Renee replies, “do you guys have any medical kits we could use?”

“Medical kits? I dunno. I’m just a greeter, dear. You’ll have to ask Mick, or Bryan, or Shane. I wouldn’t recommend talking to Stephanie,” he takes his feet off of the table to lean across the desk a bit, cupping his mouth as if sharing a secret, “she’s a bit of a bitch.”

“Oh-kay,” Renee says slowly. “Where would I find any of them?”

“Mick’s probably in his office, Bryan’ll be with his wife and I don’t know about Shane.”

“Uhh.” Tyler - his nametag reads - isn’t really making this any easier or faster. “Where is Mick?”

“Fifth floor somewhere.”

Renee opens her mouth to speak again, ask _where_ on the fifth floor exactly, but Tyler already seems distracted by something else, so she just leaves it alone. She gives a quiet thanks and starts off again, redoing for prayers as she presses the button for floor five.

When the doors open again and she steps out, she can’t really tell it from her own floor, the same creepy feeling still there. But determined, she sets off to the left and promises herself she can find it.

The sickly orange light flickering above her doesn’t really help her nerves, especially combined with the eerie silence save for her own movements and breathing. The ambience of, or rather lack of, this place is almost overwhelming. It’s like being at the bottom of a swimming pool and facing upwards, everything is so still and quiet there, so peaceful that you kinda want to stay at the bottom forever.

But this isn’t a swimming pool and this is also the last place Renee wants to be. She also doesn’t know how she knows what being at the bottom of a pool is like since she can’t connect an actual memory to it, but she’s too tired to get into it.

A voice takes her out of her thoughts, and she ceases walking to listen, only to realise that the door next to her has a piece of paper that reads ‘Mick’s office’ taped to it. The voices are coming from inside it.

She knocks a few times, hesitant. Both Dean and Roman have met this Mick guy, he can’t be bad, right? She gets the feeling she can’t trust some people here. The door opens a little bit later, the door pulling back to reveal a man taller than her with a slightly wrinkled face and graying hair. In the room behind him is a man wearing a red flannel coat, and big bushy brown hair.

“Hi, you’re Renee, aren’t you?” he asks.

“Yeah. I need a medical kit, my boyfriend got cut on his-”

“Oh, he’ll be fine.”

“I - what?”

“Just go back and see him. He’ll be fine.” The abrupt dismissal and the way he immediately closes the door after finishing speaking, all while giving her a big smile, is very confusing and leaves her a little dumb-founded.

Feeling even more lost than ever, Renee slowly makes her way back to her room, feeling the cold follow her the entire way. When she finally does get back, Dean’s seated at the small dining table, looking  a little disturbed as he stares at his hand. Renee approaches him without saying anything, and he slowly lets his hand fall flat on the table.

It’s completely fine. Renee can’t fucking believe her eyes. All the scratches and scabs are just, gone, only the bloodstains left behind. Dean doesn’t look too thrilled about it either, but it’s only one of many weird things that’ve been happening lately.

Neither of them say a word. They simply take a pause, and then move on.

**Author's Note:**

> tbh I'm kinda curious - what's your take on what's happening? I have my own version of it that's kinda implied but I wanna see what other people think


End file.
